The Lost Causes
by bloodyrose1294
Summary: Elizabeth Foster is a talented psychologist, but is she ready to take on Stark Industries? A story about family, friendship, and maybe...romance? This is her story. See notes for warnings.
1. Chapter 1

" _I've had to fight like hell. And fighting like hell has made me who I am."_

 **Hadlie**

"Where the hell is she?" a young brunette muttered under her breath. She surveyed the other caffeine deprived New Yorkers at Gregory's Coffee Shop, attempting to assuage her boredom by studying a fellow college student who appeared to be on the verge of a mental breakdown thanks to whatever was on his computer. It looked like he was trying to write three papers at once. Whoever said college was the time of your life was badly misinformed.

She sighed. Jane was at least thirty minutes late, which was expected but highly annoying. In hindsight, maybe she should have brought her computer to work on the rest of her dissertation. There was only another week and a half until it was due, and she still needed to prep for her meeting with the board to defend it.

Glancing at her phone, she debated on whether or not to call Jane…God only knew that woman got caught up in her work.

"Lizzie!"

Her slate blue eyes snapped to attention and spotted a tiny brunette in an oversized red flannel shirt hurtling in her direction. Standing up, she barely had time to prepare herself for her cousin's hug.

"Oh thank the Lord you are finally here. I thought you had for-" The last of her greeting ended in an _oomph_ asJane gave her a bone cracking hug. She gasped for air and Jane let go.

"As an award winning scientist you should know air is a requirement for survival," Lizzie quipped sarcastically.

"It has been too long since I last saw you! You deserve a massive hug."

"How was the rest of your time in New Mexico?"

"Well it was London actually."

"Oh. I've been here the whole time…working on my doctorate. Lots of fun let me tell you."

Jane and Lizzie had always been close, despite their five year age difference. Or, at least, they had been close until Jane discovered the Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Now everything Jane did was on a need to know basis since everyone in the scientific community wanted her research. Lizzie and the rest of their family didn't know who she was working for now. All she knew was Jane was in New York City with her assistant Darcy, who Lizzie had become fast friends with during her first and only trip to New Mexico, and wanted to visit.

Jane sighed in exasperation, "I know, I know. Work has been crazy, but let me get a look at you. You've certainly grown up in the time I've been gone."

Looking down at her Columbia sweatshirt, black leggings, and non-descript blue Keds, Lizzie begged to differ. Oh God, she was going to have to dress like a real adult in a few short months. Well that panic attack could wait until she got back to her apartment in Upper Manhattan.

"Not really. I'm pretty close to being done though. Finally."

"I know! I'm so proud of you for finishing the program. Even if it's not a hard science." It was an ongoing joke from Jane and Lizzie's uncle that she would be the black sheep of the family for pursuing psychology despite the fact her mother was not a science major either.

Rolling her eyes, Lizzie caustically replied, "Thank you very much, but at least my undergraduate was in biochemical engineering."

Pushing aside the teasing for later, Jane said, "Of course. How are things going for you? It has been so long since we have talked."

Instead of remarking on the obvious she said, "It's been busy since I'm so close to being done with thesis. My research at the VA in Brooklyn has been a huge help in addition to the research I've been able to conduct at some companies here in New York City."

Lizzie managed not to make a pointed remark about how the lack of communication with her cousin was not her fault. She had tried to convince herself she wasn't bitter over the loss of a valued relationship, but knew there was no disguising the truth. Jane was too busy now.

Maybe she should be used to abandonment; God knew it happened too often. At least Darcy kept in touch. It enabled her to keep track of how Jane was doing even if she couldn't get specifics. When Jane was in London the previous year, Lizzie was about to buy a plane ticket thanks to Darcy's weekly reports of her cousin's inexplicable deep depression. But then Jane's depression had magically disappeared and Lizzie went back to feeling unneeded.

Jane's forehead scrunched in curiosity, "What exactly is your thesis about then?"

Gearing up for a long-winded hour of question and answer, she pushed her glasses up her nose. "The short story is I'm discussing how symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder can manifest in the workplace due to the-"

But then Lizzie noticed the man in nondescript clothing who sat down a few feet from them. He finished his beverage a few minutes previous, yet he continued to loiter even though the place was packed. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She knew no one would have any reason to follow a lowly psychologist. But, Jane? They would definitely follow her if Darcy's tales of attempted science thievery were true.

Her abrupt halt in storytelling prompted Jane to wave a hand in front of her face asking, "Lizzie? Liz? Has your dissertation explanation fried your brain?"

"No, but there's a man sitting near us who hasn't stopped watching you. Don't look at him! He's blonde, well over 6 feet tall, and blue eyed, wearing nerdy looking glasses. Not that I'm one to judge."

Instead of looking alarmed, Jane appeared to be… fondly exasperated. What the hell? She was about to voice her concerns about her cousin's apparent absence of self-preservation when Jane interrupted.

Jane explained in a rush, "He's my boyfriend."

The shock must've shown on her face because Jane's heated up in response to her gobsmacked gaze.

"He's a little overprotective after a few incidents involving my research."

"Clearly," Lizzie muttered under her breath. She took the time to study him seeing as he was the first boyfriend who could keep up with Jane's beautiful mind. Despite his bulk, he didn't appear to be a conceited self-centered type of person. He seemed kind and completely besotted with Jane, which was good. Yet, he had a stately air about him as if he were a person of importance accustomed to people watching his every move. Her intuition didn't sense any red flags about him, and she was almost always right.

"What's his name?"

"Donald."

"Didn't you have another boyfriend named Donald? Donald the Dick?"

"Lizzie!"

"What? You know I'm right."

"Just because you're right doesn't mean you should say it."

Seeing the slightly hurt look on Jane's face about her critique of boyfriends she knew it was time to back off.

She mustered up all of the sincerity she possessed to say, "I'm sorry. However, you know I'm right about the guys you date. I call 'em like I see 'em. It's always up to you to take my sage advice."

Rolling her eyes, Jane retorted, "Yeah I know. You are the All-Powerful the Most Wise on Earth."

"And don't you forget it. Did you tell your dad yet?"

Silence was her answer, and she knew Jane couldn't involve her family in her research but damnit this was her life! Didn't they deserve to know about the good and bad things happening even if she couldn't disclose the nature of her work?

"Of course you didn't," Lizzie scowled. "Why would you tell them? You don't even tell _me_ anything anymore."

She missed the times where Jane would call just to talk. She missed her cousin. She couldn't forget the person sitting in front of her was a near stranger.

Feeling bone weary she got to the point, "Why'd you ask me to meet you here, Jane?"

With her question the wall between them resurrected.

Jane appeared hesitant now and related her news, "I'm moving here to New York City to work at Stark Industries. I'm going to be living in the Tower due to security reasons and I wanted to ask-"

"Great. Congratulations. Is that what you wanted to hear? Because I am happy for you, yet you cut me out of your life. Heck, you cut out just about everyone," Lizzie stated blandly while turning her gaze to the now finished cup of coffee in her hands. Her mouth apparently wasn't done speaking though, "I can't pretend to understand why you called me here. I never hear from you, and I have to find out about your health through your assistant rather than from yourself."

The silence after her statement seemed as if it lasted for millennia, and Lizzie couldn't bring herself to look at Jane. She felt like the worst person in the world, but knew her honest nature would never allow her to act in any other way.

Lizzy hastily made her exit after the seemingly permanent silence, "Look I'm sorry, but I need to go and finish up my notes for my dissertation."

Getting up from her chair she grabbed her purse and made a speedy retreat to the door. But then she looked back, spotted "Donald", and her familial affection for Jane swelled.

She walked over to him.

As if she were remarking on the weather she told him, "If you break her heart, I have a Smith and Wesson pistol with your name on a bullet."

It was the appropriate Texan way to greet a family member's significant other after all, she thought as she pushed open the door and left.

It was too early to be up and participating in society, Lizzie thought darkly. 5 AM was an hour no sane human should relish, but she needed to finish the conclusion of her dissertation. Yesterday had gone as horribly, as expected, so she tried to bury herself in work. Jane would probably never speak to her again. Or, at least for a while. Lizzie figured she'd let the dust settle before she made the attempt to reconcile.

After a few hours, the sound of her phone ringing jarred her concentration from the computer. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was only 8:30 AM and had to wonder who the hell would call at this time.

The caller was unknown so she answered with as much grace as possible, "Hello, this is Elizabeth Foster speaking."

"Hello Ms. Foster, this is Mr. Faux with Human Resources at Stark Industries. I was calling to discuss the position you applied for two months prior," a cool voice stated.

She had forgotten about that application, and could barely recall the details of the position. Oh hell, she could just wing it.

"Oh yes. How are you this morning?"

"I'm good, thank you. We reviewed your qualifications, and wanted you to come in sometime this week to interview."

Crap, where the hell was her planner?! She frantically canvassed her apartment for said planner while telling the man on the phone, "That would be great! What day this week?"

"Would it be possible for you to come into our main office on Thursday? We have times available from 1 to 4 that day."

She saw her planner poking out from under her bed and cheered silently. Flipping through it, she hastily replied, "1:30 would be fine."

"Splendid, I will send you an email confirmation detailing the time and location. You will be interviewing with me. Stark Industries has an extensive security screening process at the door so please allow time for that."

"I will be sure to do that. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, and we look forward to meeting with you on Thursday."

As soon as he had hung up the phone, Lizzie began her happy dance across the room to celebrate.

"I HAVE AN INTERVIEW! GOODBYE UNEMPLOYMENT!"

She wanted to shout it to the world, announce it to everyone she knew. Who could she call? She thought of Jane, but pushed the thought out of her mind. Her cousin probably wouldn't pick up anyway. Knowing her luck, "Donald" would answer the phone instead.


	2. Chapter 2

" _To forgive is to set a prisoner free… and discover that the prisoner was you."_

 **Lewis B. Smedes,** _ **Forgive and Forget**_

"Move, lady!"

The man who yelled at her subsequently pushed her to ensure she received the message. What a douche. She didn't quite manage to restrain herself from flipping him the bird before taking a few begrudging steps forward to the building in question. At least he didn't go into the Stark Industries building. If he had, she would've worried obsessively over whether or not he would be the one interviewing her.

It was finally Thursday, so here Lizzie stood outside the impressive Stark Industries Building twenty minutes ahead of schedule. Staring up at the logo at the top she felt the faintest twinge of butterflies swarming in her stomach. Oh who was she kidding, the butterflies had nested inside her and reproduced vigorously. She knew she shouldn't be nervous, but emotions weren't ruled by logic.

It was worse knowing Jane was somewhere inside that building. They still hadn't spoken since what Lizzie had taken to calling "The Café Debacle". It had only been three days, but she could still hear Jane's hurt silence. The guilt was going to eat her alive unless she called and apologized again. But it could wait until after her interview when she wasn't as nervous. All morning, Lizzie had debated calling off the interview and hiding underneath her covers for the next ten years. However, her pride would never allow her to do something so cowardly. Straightening her shoulders and jutting out her chin as if to defy the world, Lizzie marched across the street to Stark Industries.

As soon as she passed the threshold of the gleaming glass doors, she regretted all her life choices.

The inside of the building was not only intimidating, but fairly… shiny. Lizzie thought it was ironic the color scheme was all white since the tabloids made it quite clear Tony Stark was no saint. The white also reminded her of a psych ward, which _definitely_ didn't make her feel any better. And if that wasn't enough, there was a veritable army of burly security guards in the lobby, all of whom appeared to be conducting pat downs, scanning bags, and doing full body scans.

This wasn't exactly surprising, since the Avengers were rumored to be headquartered here. But, since the collapse of the organization called S.H.I.E.L.D, the government was conducting a thorough investigation in addition to taking a hostile stance towards organized superhero activity. The placement of extra guards might have been just as much about restricting the Avengers as it was about protecting them.

Giving her head a quick shake to scatter the errant thoughts, Lizzie strode over to the visitors' desk to receive a badge so she could go upstairs to the human resources department. The next thing she knew she was standing in an elevator with a bunch of well-dressed professionals hurtling up to the 20th floor. She noticed several of the elevator buttons at the top simply weren't labeled, yet no one made an attempt to press one. Musing on the curiosity of unidentified floors, Lizzie surmised they must be the private living quarters, perhaps for Tony Stark himself. Although, why he could possibly need ten floors all to himself was beyond her comprehension.

Stepping off the elevator, Lizzie found a smiling male receptionist, who chirped, "Good afternoon!"

Well. That was way too much enthusiasm for a workday.

She managed to bend her lips into a semblance of a grin before stating, "Hello, my name is Elizabeth Foster and I'm here for my interview with Mr. Faux."

The guy somehow managed to increase the size of his smile, which made Lizzie simultaneously terrified and impressed.

"Oh yes! Please have a seat. Mr. Faux will be with you shortly."

Taking his advice, Lizzie sank into one of the plush leather chairs in the reception area. She tried to discreetly wipe her palms on her slacks before taking in her surroundings. White was still the predominant color scheme, but the wood paneling and floor softened its intensity. It still made her feel out of place in her navy blue slacks and white dress shirt. Perhaps she should put her suit jacket on just to look like a consummate professional. Eyeing the hallway the receptionist disappeared into, Lizzie quickly put her arms in the sleeves as the sound of footsteps approached.

The secretary brought back an older fellow with a meticulous silver hair, who, like Lizzie, was dressed in a navy suit. His tan eyes were kind, reinforced by lines of laughter that decorated his face. It put her at ease to see Stark Industries employed at least one person who wasn't wholly terrifying.

"Ms. Foster, I'm Mr. Faux."

Standing up as if the chair had been lit on fire, she grasped his outstretched hand in a firm hold before replying, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Faux."

"I'm glad you could make it in to meet with us today."

"Oh certainly, I'm excited to have this opportunity to talk with you."

He seemed surprised at her politeness, which rankled a bit. She wasn't a barbarian.

Mr. Faux's voice interrupted her brain's logic, "If you would follow me, we are going to be conducting this interview in our conference room with the current psychologist."

Oh, God. A conference room? With the person currently holding the position? If they wanted to intimidate the potential new hire they were doing a splendid job. But she refused to let it show on her face. What was that phrase? _Confidence is key._ She could do this. She would kick this interview's ass, return to the apartment triumphant, and feast on ice cream and wine.

Mr. Faux was already a little too far ahead of her so she had to quicken her pace to catch up, which was easy since she was so tall. They walked down several long hallways, and Lizzie thanked all the deities that flats were a part of her ensemble today. It would've been painful in heels.

Mr. Faux stopped abruptly in front of a nondescript black door leading to a glass-walled conference room. A man was already seated inside. He would've fit in well amongst her professors. He wore a tweed coat, which must be a prerequisite for all absent-minded academics, and a red bowtie, which left Lizzie imagining him as an older, slightly more frazzled Doctor Who.

Mr. Faux opened the door and gestured for Lizzie to enter. "Ms. Foster, allow me to introduce Dr. Wilkes, who will be retiring in a few short months."

"Don't say retirement, it makes me feel older than I am," the man complained.

Lizzie thrust out her hand to shake his own and gave him a winning smile. In the most authoritative voice she could muster, she declared, "I'm Elizabeth Foster, soon to be Doctor Foster."

He straightened in his char a little at this. "Dr. Foster? You wouldn't happen to be related to the astrophysicist, Dr. Jane Foster?"

"I am actually. She just told me she started working here about a few days ago."

"I see. I meet her during her required psych evaluation, and I must say her work is fascinating."

She laughed nervously, "Well, that's Jane for you."

His indigo eyes peered into her own, seemingly probing her expression for something she could not name. She wanted to avert her gaze to the blank flat screen TV dominating the wall behind him, but her eyes didn't move.

The moment passed abruptly when Mr. Faux interrupted, "Ms. Foster, would you take a seat here, please?"

Idly, she wondered if Stark Industries exclusively bought comfortable chairs to lure the people into a false sense of security. Rumors were Pepper Potts, CEO of SI, was a shrewd business woman, so it was entirely possible.

Before Mr. Faux could begin, she asked, "What role would you expect me to fulfill within this position?"

Mr. Faux glanced at his colleague. "Would you like to take the reins on this one?"

"Sure. We need someone who can conduct annual psychological evaluations for certain employees in addition to new hires. However, you would also have appointments with any employees who desire to talk to someone about an issue, or employees for whom the company deems an evaluation is necessary."

"Ok. "

This question transitioned into Mr. Faux asking her all of the standard interview questions: Were you convicted of a felony? What is your fatal flaw? Name a time when you had a conflict, and were able to resolve it.

Lizze felt confident she aced the HR portion of this interview, but her nerves exploded after Mr. Faux asked Wilkes to jump in with his own questions. She knew he'd been watching her closely throughout the whole interview, which wasn't surprising. Psychologists were taught to observe and listen, not to prattle on with questions. A good doctor only asked one, which was quite possibly the only one worth asking.

"Most people become psychologists for two reasons: either the genuinely want to help people, or they want to better understand themselves and their trauma. Which is it for you?"

No one ever asked her this question. Even when she was interviewing for Columbia's graduate program, they only discussed her GPA, her extracurricular activities, and what she wanted to do with her degree. The only people who could even guess why she wanted to be a psychologist were her mother, her uncle, and dear cousin Jane. It was almost too personal to tell a stranger, but she could gloss over the unsavory parts of her life to answer it.

Slowly, she began, "It's a little bit of both to be entirely honest with you. I think I became a psychologist because I saw one to deal with a traumatic event. I still talk to him occasionally. I've had to accept that my trauma still affects me. It will always haunt me, but I've learned to accept that part of myself."

Taking a calming breath, she continued, "I also chose this profession because I want to help others. I've traveled to a lot of places and met many people who helped me realize everyone suffers in different ways every day. I ended up deciding to do my research with veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder because it is stigmatized in our society. People can never fully understand PTSD unless they have experienced it firsthand.

"Everyone thinks if you go through something traumatic and you move on linearly. But, it doesn't happen like that. Sometimes the pain festers and manifests in unexpected ways if no help is given. If I could assuage the pain of others, then I might be able to leave the world a better place than I found it."

The silence was somewhat deafening after her answer, but her gaze didn't waver from Dr. Wilkes' face. Lizzie thought she might have glimpsed an expression of approval, but with his poker face it was hard to tell. Mr. Faux appeared to be only slightly bothered behind his polite stoicism.

Mr. Faux was the one to break the silence, "Well those were all our questions for you, Ms. Foster. This is your chance to ask your own."

"What qualities are you looking for in a candidate for this position?"

Mr. Faux was off like a shot to explain how they wanted someone who was motivated, caring, and empathetic in addition to a thousand other adjectives.

Dr. Wilkes' response to the question was quite simple, "Someone who is strong in spirit and compassionate in nature."

Dear God, he might as well start writing fortune cookies during his retirement.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Faux went on to say, "Well those were all of our questions. It was a pleasure to meet with you."

Shaking his and Dr. Wilkes' hands, she told him, "Thank you so much. When should I hear back from you about the position?"

"In about a week."

"I look forward to it."

In truth, she was not. She was actually freaking out about having to wait a week to see if they would reject or make her an offer of employment.

Oh well.

It was probably best to celebrate an interview well done with wine. After she had shaken their hands and left the conference room, she shot off a text to one Darcy Lewis to start celebrating. Darcy gave her an affirmative answer, and asked to meet at the lobby of Stark Industries in twenty minutes.

Lizzie resigned herself to wait on one of the simple wooden benches littering the lobby. Her phone, a typical source for amusement, was low on battery so she resolved to do some people-watching instead. Even before she went to graduate school for psychology she had always observed the human populace. It was intriguing to watch people, gauge their emotions, and make a guess about their lives. After spending five years to study the human mind, she became exceptionally good at reading people both physically and emotionally. From a safe distance, of course.

In a high profile place such as Stark Industries, the habit became much more entertaining. There were obviously people who thought highly of themselves, and they would stride right past, ignoring Lizzie as if she were a part of the furniture. However, the scientists were her favorites. You could always tell who worked in the labs based solely on how they conducted themselves in public. Most scientists walked in a rush as if their work would simply vanish from their labs if left alone long enough. In addition, they had a certain thirst for knowledge that showed in their rapidly moving eyes and waggling eyebrows.

Suddenly, she saw them.

She'd been so focused on people-watching that she'd almost missed them. Two men in exercise clothes were quickly making their way towards the elevators in the back of the lobby. What grabbed her attention about them was security waved them through without a second glance. Weird. Why would they do that? She blatantly stared at them, surmising neither would notice her unabashed curiosity. As if he felt her gaze, the man with coffee-colored hair stiffened, looked over his shoulder once, and said something to his blond companion. Their brisk pace slowed.

Strange.

The light haired guy was broader than his friend, almost comparable to Jane's Donald. She imagined many women would swoon over his shoulder-to-waist ratio, but her eye was instead drawn to his companion. This man was the direct opposite. He seemed to be all lithe grace, but just as physically fit as his companion. Despite only being able to see the backs of their heads, she knew their faces were probably equally gorgeous.

Damn genetics.

Lost in her thoughts, she took too long notice that the brown haired man was now blatantly staring back. Oops.

Instead of responding in embarrassment akin to any other sane human, Lizzie opted to send him a defiant look, complete with a raised eyebrow. It was a free country, damnit, she could stare at whatever the hell she wanted.

The moment was short lived because a woman in a sweater and jeans blocked her view. Confused, she looked up at the woman and realized it was Darcy. Lizzie's split second of hesitation was enough for Darcy, who took advantage of the delayed reaction to hug Lizzie in a dramatic fashion.

"Liz! I've missed you so much!"

Spitting out a string of Darcy's mahogany hair from her mouth, Lizzie said, "I couldn't tell at all."

Darcy didn't let go, but squeezed tighter.

"Um…Darcy, your hair is in my mouth…"

Darcy's grip didn't loosen. She was going to break Lizzie's back at this rate. Lizzie settled for patting her on the back before attempting to struggle.

"Darcyyyyyyyyyyyy. Let me go," she whined.

"Noooooooo. It's been over a year since our grand excursion in New Mexico. I demand hugs as compensation."

"Fine, fine, but you can collect them sporadically. Not all once."

"I suppose I can live with that bargain."

Her arms dropped and Lizzie gasped for air gratefully. She surreptitiously glanced around, but the man with the brown hair was now long gone.

Lizzie and Darcy ended up at a dive bar reliving their memories from Lizzie's visit to New Mexico and catching up on life. Darcy opted to move here with Jane and finish her last few credits for Culver online. Lizzie could never put into words how much it meant that Darcy was taking care of her cousin when she couldn't. Knowing Darcy would be living in New York was fabulous news, and it sparked an idea in her slightly inebriated head.

In a fanciful tone she asked, "Darcy, where art thou going to live?"

Ok maybe she was pretty buzzed at this point. But, in her defense it had been a stressful week with this interview and the submission of her dissertation. She deserved a break. Hopefully, the choice didn't come back to haunt her in the morning.

Darcy, who was slightly more in control of her faculties than her friend, absent-mindedly told her, "I have no idea. I'm crashing on Jane and Th—Donald's couch right now since they're living in the tower. It's just everything in New York City is so _freaking expensive_. I don't know how I'm going to be able to pay to live in a shoebox much less a studio apartment."

"I have the most brilliant idea. Of all time."

"Really? Give it a go, mini-Jane."

For that insult, Lizzie retaliated in the only acceptable manner: sticking out her tongue.

"Ha. Ha. Fuckin' HA. We'll come back to Jane in a 'mo, but I think we should be roommates if I end up getting this job."

Darcy's face brightened with excitement as she shouted, "HELLS YES! WE'RE GOING TO BE THE BEST ROOMIES EVER! Also can I say I'm now super excited to get out of Jane's spare room? I'm so sick of hearing them have se-"

Slapping her hands over her ears, Lizzie immediately babbled, "Lalalalalala, I can't hear you! LALALLAALALALALA!"

Darcy snorted with laughter before managing to choke out, "It's a fact of life, Lizzie."

"I know, just don't tell me about it! I don't need the mental image."

"Alright, settle down, Ms. Rowdy. We can't be thrown out of the bar yet."

In response, Lizzie drank the last of her whiskey and coke in a few short gulps and gestured to Darcy with her glass. "Last time was your fault entirely."

"Was not!"

"I have two words for you: gin and tonic."

"That's three words."

"Semantics."

After a few heartbeats, Darcy finally prodded Lizzie, "So are we going to not talk about why your dear cousin has looked so melancholy the last few days?"

Guilt washed over Lizzie and her throat tightened. She managed to push the guilt out of her mind and tried for faux innocence. "Why? Has Jane been melancholy?"

Because she studiously avoided eye contact with Darcy, she missed the slightly exasperated look from the other woman.

"Look I know you guys had some sort of spat-"

"No, we did n—."

"—and it's clearly bothering you. I'm just saying if you want to talk I have two ears, and I could surely spare one for you."

"I know," Lizzie inhaled shakily, "I'll talk to you about it later, just not tonight."

It was always difficult for Lizzie to confide in people. She was so accustomed to being independent that it took time to trust and understand her friends would be there for her to rely upon. Lizzie only ever fully divulged to two people in her life: her mother and Jane. Over the years she'd become better at trusting others, but it was a hard habit to break.

"Alright, but we should probably leave because I'm done for the night," said Darcy with a slight wobble as she slid out of the barstool.

"Ugh, I don't know how I'm going to make it back to my apartment. It's so farrrrrrrrr,"complained Lizzie.

Logic reared its head slightly in Darcy's mind, prompting her to say, "Look, we could do a platonic drunk girly slumber party at my temporary residence if you want. Stark gave Jane and Th—Donald, damnit words, humongous beds in all the rooms so we'd each have a side to ourselves if we used mine."

Lizzie was too tired to contemplate the consequences when she acquiesced. "Alright, but if you try to cuddle me, I swear I will kick your ass."

"Hey! I'm a great cuddler!"

"You're an octopus."

"You wound me with your words!"

"You'll recover, I'm sure."

The ride up in the elevator to the 70th level made them both feel a bit queasy, so the logical solution was to sprawl on the floor. They didn't account for the fact that it was only 8:00pm, and most people would still be utilizing the elevator. Thankfully the only encounter they had was when a black man with a military haircut in old U.S. Army sweats stepped on at the 69th level. He warily stared at the two before his confusion drove it away.

He opened his mouth hesitantly, "Are you two alright?"

There was an incoherent moan from Darcy, so Lizzie took on the challenge of talking and attempting to act like a normal human being.

It took a few seconds for her muddled brain to explain, "She lives on the 70th floor, and I'm just escorting her up."

There. Her explanation was succinct and to the point. Brilliant for being incredibly intoxicated. Or at least she thought so. But, the man in the Army sweats was not suitably impressed.

What a party pooper.

He glanced at her sharply for a moment, and Lizzie realized she'd said that out loud. Oh well. She was saved by the (figurative) bell when the door chimed the 70th floor.

Grabbing Darcy, they managed to stagger their way to the apartment door, but not before Lizzie threw the dude a sloppy salute. Somehow they managed to stumble their way to Darcy's room, and fell into a heap on the bed before sleep claimed them.

Lizzie woke up to the sound of pounding. Groaning she rubbed at her temples, and prayed that Darcy might have Tylenol. The longer she was awake she realized the pounding was coming from the door. Feeling queasy, she glanced at Darcy who was still passed out on the left side of the bed. She dreaded who might be on the other side of the door, because of the only two options, neither was someone she wanted to talk to. As much as she wanted to wake Darcy and make her deal with this, she knew it was probably time to face the music.

Yanking open the door, she wasn't the least bit surprised to see Jane standing there in her pajamas, preparing to do another round of furious knocking. As soon as she realized it was Lizzie standing there instead of Darcy, her hand slowly lowered and her face paled.

Taking a deep breath, Lizzie told her, "We need to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

" _The truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth."_

 **Lao Tzu**

The silence was strained as Lizzie and Jane sipped on their caffeinated beverages at the Starbucks near the Tower. Their journey to the get coffee was done in near silence and consequently, the cacophony of New York City was a welcome respite. The only positive outcome of the past half hour was that Lizzie at least got a decent cup of coffee. She desperately needed it to deal with the impending conversation in addition to her hangover. She desperately wished to put off talking to Jane, but Lizzie was never one to back down from a difficult situation, even one of her own making.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to begin, but Jane beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

The statement startled her into speech. "Wait. Why are _you_ sorry? Shouldn't I be the one to apologize for behaving like a jerk the other day? Oh God, did thesis finally crack my brain? Or was it the alco-"

Laughing, Jane interrupted. "I can assure you that you have not finally succumbed to mad-scientist disease."

"Oh. Well, good. I was worried for a second. But what do you have to apologize for?"

Jane stared at Lizzie guiltily.

"For everything after you came and visited me in New Mexico. There was a reason why I put distance between our family and me."

"And that reason was…?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You mean the organization overtaken by Hydra that apparently was going to murder most of the population? Yeah, I saw the files Black Widow put out on the internet."

"Yes, but my first encounter with them didn't go smoothly. They took all of my research then eventually gave it back only to restrict me with a bunch of non-disclosure agreements. So I ended up having to work for them because they wanted to limit how many people were 'in the know'."

"So you didn't tell your family anything because of a bunch of NDAs? But, weren't those void after the whole Avengers fiasco?"

"Partly, yet after what happened with Erik-"

Lizzie cut in abruptly, "Hold your horses. _Our_ Erik? Erik Selvig?"

Lizzie knew it wasn't physically possible for someone to morph into inanimate objects, however Jane seemed to be giving it the good old college try.

"Yes," gave Jane in meek reply.

Her response was to ensure her head made contact with the gritty table top. Repeatedly. After her attempt to smash her head through the table failed, Jane continued her story.

"Erik had told me when we first encountered S.H.I.E.L.D how one of his colleagues simply vanished. I didn't believe him at first. After New Mexico I was doing research on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge based on the data from the first alien contact. S.H.I.E.L.D asked me to participate on some classified project they were working on in regards to alien technology and energy. I refused. They coerced Erik instead, and…"

For a moment she appeared to struggle to find words so Lizzie put her hands on top of Jane's spasming fingers, resulting in Jane's lips twitching into a self-deprecating smile. Lizzie knew the facts now thanks to the S.H.I.E.L.D file dump behind what happened in Manhattan when the world learned extraterrestrial life was no longer myth. The files and the media never specified how exactly aliens were able to invade Earth, but from Jane's confession she could make an educated guess.

"Loki used a form of mind control to coerce him into building the portal to allow the alien invasion to occur. Erik was never the same after the Battle of Manhattan. After I saw what happened to him, I knew I couldn't risk my family being caught up in this. I was terrified about you guys getting hurt or worse, so it was easier to distance myself from everyone. Then London and the dark elves happened, and I had a near death experience which changed my perspective among other things."

"Wait, you were there?! You almost died!?"

Wincing as if bracing herself for a blow, Jane told her hesitantly, "…yes?"

Lizzie nearly spilled her coffee all over the table. "Jane!"

"What?"

"You need to tell me these things!"

"That's why I'm telling you now!"

"Yeah a little over six _months_ later!"

"Still!"

The sounds of caffeine deprived New Yorkers swelled around them, filling the sudden silence after their somewhat loud discussion. It was probably a good thing they had stopped their raised conversation since people were starting to stare at them. Lord, her life would make for excellent reality TV.

Taking a calming breath, Lizzie ventured, "So what happened in London?"

Lizzie spent the next hour listening to Jane talk about Thor, Asgard, the Aether, the Convergence, the Dark Elves, Malekith, and Loki's death. She wanted to grip Jane by the shoulders and shake her until common sense took a firm hold of Jane's mind. Alas, Lizzie knew nothing would stop Jane from chasing after answers to the questions of the world even if there were people or aliens akin to Malekith in the way. She was curious about Thor after hearing Jane speak so highly of him.

Wait a minute.

Praying that her cousin wasn't as suicidal as she thought, she dared to ask her final question.

"Is Donald actually Thor?"

Jane gave her the answer by turning scarlet, a nearly perfect match for the seasonal Starbucks cups, and then attempting to look busy by taking a sip of coffee.

Lizzie's completely logical response was to bang her head against the table again.

Rubbing her aching forehead, she marshaled her thoughts into some semblance of order. Swallowing, Lizzie lifted her eyes to study her cousin. It was easy to see the changes after a year and a half of absence, now that she knew where to look. The fidgeting, the looking over her shoulder every few minutes, the flush in Jane's face when she thought about Don – uh, Thor…

"So am I going to have alien nieces and nephews? And would alien DNA necessarily screw with your kids? Or would they just be super attractive? Because, I have to say…Donald is majorly hot."

At this, Jane emitted a strange spluttering denial, and coffee dribbled out of her mouth.

"Hot," she said.

Lizzie wasn't sure if this was referring to her previous comment or Donald's abs. Nevertheless, it made her giggle, and soon enough Jane was joining in, a napkin pressed daintily to her face.

And then they were full-out laughing, attracting the attention of the New York caffeine crowd and not even caring.

Ah, how she had missed this.

After their laughter subsided, Lizzie gave Jane a look of mock seriousness before demanding, "Tell me everything."

So Jane did.


	4. Chapter 4

" _Your eyes'll tell it all, a window to the war that you've been through."_

 **Marie Hines** , "Save It All"

After Lizzie and Jane reconciled, the cousins made an effort to spend more time together. Despite the revelation that Donald was in fact the legendary and _mighty_ Thor, she had yet to meet him in person. Darcy had finally spilled the beans on the details left out of their first contact with aliens, much to the frustration of Jane. Apparently the Avengers had just been sent off on some super secret assignment in cahoots with some government that could not be named to take down the remaining factions of Hydra. Jane was pretty tight lipped about it, which frustrated the ever-living hell out of Lizzie. From what she was able to glean, they were trying to take back some sort of alien technology, and Thor was desperately needed.

As curious as Lizzie was about this, some part of her decided ignorance was bliss. Since Thor was gone on this secret mission, Lizzie decided to utilize all the time she had to spend time with Jane.

She and Jane had gone to get lunch during a break between both of their busy schedules at a place called Sherpa House in Lower Manhattan. Their portions had been huge so Lizzie was carting almost two full cartons of chicken tikka masala back home. She held them tight as the subway rumbled along.

Exiting the train, Lizzie hurried up the stairs towards the bustling city. The sound of bustling New Yorkers assaulted her eardrums as the sudden light blinded her eyes. Her lungs burned with exertion as she power-walked back to her apartment to put up the leftovers and grab her research papers. She was dangerously close to running late for a meeting with her advisor about scheduling her final dissertation defense. So instead of sticking to her usual route home, she made the split second decision to use the alleyway short cut. She never took it alone, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The alley was dim and shadowed, and it smelled as if someone had left stale trash out for too long. Holding her breath, she prayed the stench wouldn't seep into her clothes…although it would probably still be advisable to change after this. Keeping up her brisk pace, she made her way towards the mouth of the alley where clean air awaited her.

Suddenly, the sound of someone rummaging through one of the garbage bins reached her ears. Lizzie closed her eyes and prayed to every deity she could think of that she wouldn't be mugged. She continued her journey cautiously, looking for the person responsible for the disturbance. Seeing a solitary overturned trashcan, she hesitated before edging around it's spilled contents. A low growl greeted her as she was almost clear of the debris, causing her to freeze in place.

 _Please don't be a crazy homeless person; please don't be a crazy homeless-_

Chestnut eyes met slate blue ones. However, only one set was human. The other set belonged to a grey pit-bull with white chest markings. He wasn't wearing a collar and he looked slightly malnourished, so Lizzie wondered if he was one of the many strays wandering New York City. There were what looked like a few fairly old scars on his skin, and there was a fresh white bandage on his left paw. Clearly he had belonged to someone at one point, but whether or not the owner had been kind was questionable. He had floppy ears that she was dying to pet, but decided not to take the risk as the dog's tail was stuck firmly between its legs.

The low growl continued as the two stared at each other. Lizzie was growing slightly worried the dog might attack. She should keep walking, ignore the dog and continue to her apartment. But, she'd always had a weak spot for animals…and broken things.

She hoped she didn't regret this decision later. By now she was already late for her meeting, however her advisor wouldn't mind so long as he didn't have to wait long. Slowly, so as to not alarm the animal she dropped into a crouch to minimize her threat level to the dog.

Gently she said, "Hey, buddy. How're you?"

One of the soft ears twitched in reply, but the growling didn't cease. Sighing, she assessed the dog further before he decided he wasn't fond of strange women trying to talk to him.

Bribery it was then.

She was grateful now for asking the waitress at Sherpa for two boxes in order to separate her rice from the chicken. Pulling out the to go cup full of rice, she set it down and opened it slowly in front of the dog without breaking eye contact. The smell of it masked the alley-stench for a moment.

It only took the span of a few heartbeats before the dog gave into his hunger, eating as if it was his last meal. By the time he was done he stared at her expectantly for more food. He probably hadn't eaten in at least a week, but she knew the spicy chicken wouldn't be good for a starving dog. The rice was bland enough to not upset his stomach, but he needed—

No. No, no, no, no. She couldn't possibly take this mutt home with her. Lizzie could barely take care of herself some days let alone a dog. However, she made the mistake of looking into the soulful brown eyes.

"Damnit."

BREAK

It had taken some convincing on her part to get the dog to follow her home, which mostly involved wafting the smell of the chicken in his direction. They made it up to her apartment without incident, and her neighbor had condescended to babysit while she went to her thesis meeting.

She stopped at a pet store on the way back to grab all the basic necessities for her new four-legged friend, so she felt prepared once she re-entered her apartment.

After thanking her neighbor and ushering him out the door, she turned to look at the pooch, who stared back at her. The dog still seemed a bit wary although he hadn't made a sound other than growling at her in the alley. It was bizarre.

"Alright, pooch. First order of business is giving you a bath."

Setting down all of the goodies she had bought, she walked to her modest bathroom to run the bath water. It was a good thing she didn't have a roommate, otherwise she might not have been able to bring the dog home with her. As she let the water run, she changed into a ratty old t-shirt in addition to a pair of old shorts, knowing she would need to do a load of laundry soon.

It took some convincing to get the behemoth of a dog into the tub, but once he realized it was warm water and quite harmless he was much more compliant. Lizzie ended up having to bathe him at least three times to erase the dirt and grime of the city from his fur. By the time she unplugged the drain, the bath water was an alarming shade of grey. She grabbed her beach towels off the toilet seat, and rigorously rubbed down the animal.

"Well, dog, we need to think of a name for you since I can't keep calling you pooch."

The only response she got was a slight sneeze, which was muffled by the towel.

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "I'll take that as a sign of agreement then."

For a brief moment, she worried about the implications of her talking to an animal who couldn't possibly respond. But, Lizzie reasoned she had a long way to go before she became certifiably crazy.

After the dog was sufficiently dried off with the towels, she pulled out her hair dryer to ensure he was thoroughly dry. As soon as she turned it on, she realized it hadn't been the brightest idea. The dog immediately cowered at the loud noise and began to growl. She shut it off immediately.

"Alright, loud noises are a no-go then. That's fine. I never use it anyway."

She carried him back into her small living room area, allowing him to cautiously smell his new surroundings. He had eaten the rice she gave him earlier, but she wasn't sure if she should feed him again so soon. However, he hadn't vomited up the food in the time she was gone, which was a good sign. It wouldn't go amiss to give him some more food, but in small quantities so he wouldn't make himself sick.

"Let's get you some more food."

His ears perked up. Typical. She did a Google search to see what would be the best for a dog who lived on the street, and came across some promising results. Apparently, her judgment call with the rice was smart since homeless dogs needed small amounts of bland food at first to adjust. She pulled out her rice cooker to start on the rice. Deciding he would need some protein, Lizzie grabbed the chicken breast she had in the refrigerator for dinner tonight. Takeout it was then.

It only took about thirty minutes for everything to cook, and by the time she pulled out the brand new dog bowl from the shopping bag, her new companion was sniffing the air cautiously. Grinning to herself, she scooped a cup of rice and bland chicken into the bowl before setting it on the floor. Immediately, he began to scarf down the food, causing her to study him and wonder exactly how long he had lived on the streets. It was probably a good idea to take him to the vet to get him checked out.

A shrill ring interrupted her musings, causing her to jump and the dog to run for the space behind her crappy reclining chair in the living room. She snatched her cellphone from its place on the counter, glancing at the number before she answered.

Furrowing her brow in confusion at the unknown number, she cautiously said, "Hello, this is Lizzie Foster speaking."

The rough masculine voice that came through the speaker had her staring at the phone again, "Ms. Foster, this is Mr. Faux's secretary with Stark Industries. Mr. Faux and Dr. Wilkes were fairly impressed with you at your first interview, so Mr. Faux would like to have you do a second interview."

She must've died because this had to be a dream. There was no way SI was asking her back for a second interview.

She barely managed to croak out, "Great! When would you need me to come in for this other interview, and what exactly would it entail?"

"You would be meeting with the other three psychologists we have on staff here in addition to doing a security interview."

Trepidation slithered up her spine, "Security interview?"

"It's standard procedure with a second interview. We like to be fully informed about our employees beforehand, so it should akin to a standard background check."

Lord, she hoped so. She forced herself to pay attention as the secretary trudged forward in his monologue.

"—which day would work best for you this week?"

Considering her options, she stared at chair concealing her new furry friend. Tuesday would be the only day that could work with her dissertation schedule. While she could bring the dog onto campus, she definitely couldn't bring him to an interview with her. She'd have to find a baby sitter of some sort, but who-?

Then the idea hit her with the force of a wrecking ball.

Making up her mind, she immediately responded, "Tomorrow would be best for me, in the afternoon preferably."

"Does 1:15pm sound good?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Ms. Foster. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Have a nice day."

"You too."

After hanging up, she chose the last number on her most recent call list and began to pray.

A distracted voice barked out, "Hello?"

"Dearest Janey of mine! I have a favor I need to ask you…"


	5. Chapter 5

"Sometimes not telling people anything is a good thing."

 **Jason Myers** , _Exit Here_

The next afternoon found Lizzie on the 70th floor of Stark Tower, standing in front of a nondescript white door. Clutching Scooby's leash, she knocked on the door with more force than necessary. Scooby gave a low growl in response to the sudden noise, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. As a therapist she could understand why a dog previously living on the streets would be wary of loud noises, but it looked weird coming from a pit bull. She tugged on the Scooby-Doo themed halter she'd purchased yesterday from the pet store to get him to settle down while readjusting her grip on the big shopping bag of dog necessities. "You're just going to see Jane, Scooby. Relax," she chided.

Thankfully Jane had agreed to take Scooby during her interview. That being said, she had seemed a bit reluctant to babysit the newest addition to the Foster clan.

"Are you sure you're up to the challenge of taking care of a dog right now?" she'd asked on the phone, an edge of skepticism to her voice.

"Look, I know it'll be challenging," Lizzie had replied, "but he would be homeless without me, and I couldn't just leave him to fend for himself. I mean, look at his little face. You can't say no to that."

Jane hadn't lectured her for her vague explanation, most likely because she knew Lizzie had a certain place in her heart for broken things. Thankfully, Jane didn't press the subject, and agreed to watch the mongrel for the duration of her interview at Stark Tower.

It turned out that the hardest part about dropping Scooby off was getting onto Jane's floor. Jane had told Darcy over the phone that the residential floors were monitored by an AI of Stark's, but the floors ran primarily on biometrics to ensure the highest level of security. Security had to give her a special pass for the day, and told her they would be inputting her into the resident system since she was related to Jane. This required them to prick her finger in order to get a blood sample...resulting in the Iron Man themed band aid on her thumb. No one could criticize Stark Industries for being subtle, Lizzie thought in amusement.

Scooby also required a biometric pass, but security had been unable to obtain his blood sample because of his persistent growling. Lizzie knew it was just a defense mechanism, but the idiots in security didn't realize he was all bark no bite. They had to settle for dog hair instead, snipped cleanly and painlessly into a small glass dish.

It was surprising the lengths they went to for security. Lizzie was afraid to find out what would security measures would have been imposed on her if she hadn't been related to Jane. Probably some kind of invasive pat down or probe or something.

The sight of the door opening snapped Lizzie out of her musings, and her eyes fell upon a brown-haired zombie blearily staring at her.

"You look like shit," Lizzie said before she could stop herself.

Jane merely responded with a grunt. Lizzie surmised her cousin must have spent all day and night in the lab after their lunch yesterday. Hopefully Jane remembered her promise to watch Lizzie's new furry companion. Still acting the part of the living dead, Jane retreated into the shadowy abyss of the apartment only to sprawl on the nearest piece of furniture, the brown leather couch.

Lizzie allowed her cousin a few moments to reboot her brain as she wandered around the apartment, setting down Scooby's new bed and water bowl in a corner by the TV. The last time she stayed here she hadn't taken the time to appreciate the luxury of Jane's apartment. There was a massive TV hanging on the wall in addition to what she thought might be an impressive surround sound system. Okay. It was settled. Jane would be the one to host any and all movie nights.

She could tell Jane hadn't been lived here long since the only things occupying the room were the couch, the television, and a modest coffee table. Clearly, they needed to furnish Jane's apartment in the near future. The most impressive part of the whole apartment was the floor to ceiling windows, which would probably provide the occupants a spectacular view of New York City if the shades weren't lowered at the moment.

She reached into her shopping bag to pull out a smelly gym shirt she had worn the other day. Tossing it on the dog bed, she recalled how her grandfather would always have his dogs sleep with one of his old t-shirts for the first few weeks. He called it "building a scent memory" or something like that because it enabled the dog to recognize and become familiar with their master's odor. She figured it couldn't hurt to try it.

Glancing back at Jane, she had to stifle a laugh as Scooby thrust his nose into her crotch with enthusiastic friendliness. Jane's shriek of horror sent Scooby running back to Lizzie with his tail between his legs. His reaction brought back a heavy feeling in her stomach – his previous owners must have abused him.

The glimpse Lizzie got of the kitchen revealed top of the line equipment, seeing it resulted in her second decision to bully Jane into doing a family dinner soon. The oven clock jumped out of the gloom, telling her she really needed to get a move on.

Once she reached the door, she raised her voice to say, "Thanks for keeping Scooby, Jane. I have to go to my security interview. Do I look professional?"

She didn't receive a response so she assumed Jane passed out again. Heaving a sigh, she resolved to text her to watch Scooby and how she left his leash on the coat rack by the door. Hopefully, he would be fine for an hour or two. As she set her hand on the doorknob, something bumped into her leg. It was Scooby, and he was looking up at her with his imploring hazel eyes.

Feeling her chest tighten, she managed to tell him, "Stay, and be good for Aunt Janey, ok?"

The only response she got was classic puppy dog eyes, so she scratched him behind the ears apologetically before running out the door to the resident elevator.

Lizzie finally made it to the Stark Industries' security office with only three minutes to spare. It was a good thing her interview was only going to be a few floors down from Jane's living space; otherwise she would've been late.

After telling the receptionist she was here to see Maria Hill, she took a seat in one of the many black leather chairs littering the waiting area. Of course, all the walls on this floor was also entirely white. Did these people want her to go crazy? Possibly.

"Ms. Foster, please follow me."

When Lizzie's brain came back into focus, she saw the most intimidating woman to date standing before her. Encased in a fashionable black dress with killer heels to boot, she already scared the bejesus out of Lizzie.

Scrambling out of her seat, she managed to grab her modest black purse before following the terrifying woman down one of the adjacent hallways into a large office, where she then sat down behind an impressive looking oak desk and looked up to study Lizzie.

She suddenly felt self-conscious in her black pencil skirt and long sleeved blue oxford shirt. Her suit jacket might have improved her appearance a bit, but she had forgotten it at home. Now she wished she had it if only to make herself look marginally as fierce as the woman behind the desk.

"Ms. Foster, I am Maria Hill, the head of security here at Stark Industries, but you may call me Hill. As you know this is your security interview, but first I'm going to need you to list at least three character witnesses for me. Including their contact information."

This request while not entirely unexpected was surprising.

After listing Jane, her advisor at Columbia, and the professor she had conducted research while an undergraduate student, she jokingly asked, "So are you going to pull a Big Brother and go interview all of them in person?"

"Yes," Hill said seriously. "You should notify them to expect it."

 _I was only kidding…_

Lizzie could only gape at her, thankful that Hill was now focusing on the computer screen as she continued talking.

"Now, Stark Industries has already conducted an in-depth background check, since as a psychologist you would be working closely with employees. You're aware of this?"

Lizzie's only response was to swallow thickly, and wonder what type of information they had gotten from her background check.

While she was panicking, Hill seemed to take her silence as assent. "Wonderful. Now, since you are already in our biometrics system, we won't have to hook you up to a lie detector. My computer will display your physical responses to the questions, which I will peruse at a later time since these things aren't infallible."

Oh dear God…what had she gotten herself into? The damn computer probably was outputting the spike in her heart rate in addition to the fact she was now sweating bullets.

Shit.

"Now, I will only require yes or no responses from you unless otherwise prompted," Hill was saying.

Lizzie felt her palms begin to get clammy. Did she really have any other choice other than agreeing to this? Probably not. And then she noticed Hill staring at her, expecting a response…

She gulped. "Alright. When do we start?"

Pulling out a few sheets of paper, Hill merely replied, "Now, Ms. Foster. Were you born in Houston, TX?"

"Yes."

"Did you spend most of your adolescence there?"

"Yes."

"Was your address 4227 #2 Childress?"

"Yes."

"Did you graduate from Awty International High School?

"Yes."

"And did you attend St. Vincent De Paul for elementary and middle school?"

"Yes."

"I see you went to University of Texas at Austin. You studied biochemical engineering. Is this true?"

"Yep."

"Did you excel most in Chemistry?"

"Yes." Why was this relevant again?

"You've listed your friends on this paper…I have Maria Harper listed first. Is this right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I think we're fully calibrated. The next few questions, just answer to the best of your ability. No more yes or no questions. Sound good?"

"Um, okay."

"Do you have any aunts or uncles?"

"Just one uncle."

"What is his name, and who does he work for?"

"Jonathan Foster, and he works at NASA."

"Does he have any children?"

"Just Jane."

"What is your mother's name and occupation?"

"May Foster, and she is a reservoir engineer at BHP Billiton."

"What is your father's name and occupation?"

"Wilson Wukman, and he is a neurologist with a doctorate in psychiatrics."

"Are your parents still married?"

Dread began to coil in her stomach at this question, but she replied calmly, "No."

"Did you see your father after the divorce?"

"Yes, at first I did."

"Could you please explain further?"

Taking a steadying breath, she willed herself to remain cool and collected before saying, "My mother and father had a custody battle over me. My mother won."

"Did you see him afterwards?"

"No."

"Have you seen him recently?"

The sinking feeling in her stomach was growing worse, but nevertheless she said, "No."

"Could you please describe your relationship to your father?"

Lizzie scrutinized Hill for a few minutes. Was this necessary? Hill held her gaze firmly. She had no choice, then. She sighed before beginning slowly, "My father and I haven't spoken since I was 18 years old, so I would classify it as non-existent. But, I'm assuming you already knew this, Hill. What exactly do you want to know?"

Hill's expression didn't change. "I want to know whether or not if your father reached out in the future if you would be willing to talk to him."

"No." Her lungs were tightening uncomfortably now.

"Could you please explain why—"

"No."

Hill looked up from the questionnaire, but said nothing. Lizzie tried to calm her breathing before saying, "I won't explain the reasons why because they are personal reasons, which do not pertain to you. Why you are so curious about my relationship with him?"

A staring contest commenced between the two women. Hill only reluctantly broke it by saying, "Based on our research, your father is a known associate of a known terrorist organization."

Rolling her eyes, Lizzie replied sarcastically, "Someone like him? Big surprise."

Hill persisted. "I know about your parents' custody battle, but the records have been sealed."

"Meaning it happened early enough to where the records are in paper, so it's nearly impossible for you to get them without a subpoena," Lizzie reasoned.

"Yes."

"Well, unless you get a subpoena from a judge then I will not tell you what happened during that case. It's personal, Ms. Hill. I don't see why it should affect my application for a position working here. Nothing in those court files will be relevant to my background check. If anything, they will support my statements that my father is a psycho and I no longer have a relationship with him."

Lizzie stood abruptly before making her way towards the door of Hill's office. However, a shout from behind stopped her as her hand gasped the door knob. She looked over her shoulder – Hill was now standing, looking flustered.

"Ms. Foster, we must find out what we want to know, especially if we feel it may threaten the security at Stark Industries."

"Trust me, nothing in those files could be of interest to you except for telling the story of young girl's emotional pain."

"Ms. Foster-"

"I'm not interested in dredging up those memories, Ms. Hill. Goodbye," Lizzie said curtly. And then she stalked from the room, not bothering to look back.


	6. Chapter 6

" _It's only when I look into your eyes that I see the scars."_

 **Richard Morgan**

After the worst interview of all time, Lizzie made her way back up to Jane's apartment to retrieve Scooby and recap what Hill said. Slamming the apartment door jostled the mutt from his bed and Jane from her unmoved position on the couch. While wrangling Scooby into his halter, she relayed to Jane everything that happened. She was glad for the distraction to keep her mind from slipping back into the past when it should remain in the present.

Jane was outraged enough to threaten to talk to Hill herself. However, with some persuasion and a lot of begging she relented. Their discussion had then turned to what to do for Thanksgiving, which was quickly approaching. Jane was unwilling to go home despite Lizzie's prodding since she thought a breakthrough was imminent, leading to an exciting lecture about the theory of relativity and quantum mechanics. Thor was still gone so it was understandable that she wanted to throw herself into her work as a distraction.

However, Lizzie managed to convince her to let poor Darcy go home to see her family. Apparently, Lewis gatherings were not something to be missed.

Lizzie decided to stay in New York to keep Jane and her science bender company. She supposed it was for the best since her dissertation presentation was immediately after the holiday.

Thus, Jane and Lizzie agreed to have Thanksgiving at the apartment, which was a blessedly effortless affair after Jane received a full Thanksgiving feast courtesy of Tony Stark. Upon seeing the spread, Lizzie's mouth dropped open in shock.

"I didn't realize you were friends," Lizzie remarked after seeing the most glorious stuffed turkey sitting upon the counter.

Even Scooby had been transfixed by it. Of course, Lizzie knew better than to give him any after taking him to the vet. Scooby now had full-blown diet regiment to ease him out of his street life eating habits. The diet was put to the test on Thanksgiving when Lizzie discovered Scooby's super power: the puppy dog eyes. She ignored them by staring back at Tony's generous feast.

Jane glared and mumbled, "Stark is annoying and ostentatious."

"Awww, but Janey! You made a friend!"

Lizzie dodged a bread roll hurled at her head following that remark.

They spent the day feasting on the gourmet food, and Lizzie decided that she should send Tony Stark a thank you card for being so thoughtful.

Something she had never thought in a thousand years would ever happen.

Four days later, she was sitting outside the room where her chosen panel of faculty deliberated upon herfinal thesis presentation. Which determined whether or not she got her doctorate. No pressure. None. Nada. She was fine...

Oh dear God she was going to vomit.

In retrospect, maybe she should've brought Scooby with her. She'd only had him for a relatively short amount of time, but they'd developed a bond as he slowly started emerging from his shell. He'd become an almost constant presence since she had taken to bringing him with her everywhere she could, which had resulted in an increase in her popularity with the undergraduate class she taught.

She missed Scooby's comforting presence even more as the nondescript wooden door from hell opened to reveal a short slightly portly man, Dr. Ozkan.

"Ms. Foster, we are ready for you," he informed her in his lilting Turkish accent.

She followed him closely back into the room to see the other three panel members sitting at a long table with her thickly bound dissertation before them. As soon as Dr. Ozkan had taken a seat, a tall man with wild grey hair and crooked glasses spoke, "Ms. Foster, this committee has reviewed your dissertation in addition to your presentation, and we only have one thing to say."

Oh my god she was going to have to stay for another year. Oh shit that would be another 100k walking out the door and –

"We are suitably impressed with your work. This committee feels that you have made sufficient progress in your research conducted at the Veteran Affairs location in Brooklyn to support your ideas. Therefor, we are recommending you for graduation next month."

It took her brain a few moments to register that her thesis was acceptable, and her automatic reaction was to cry tears of joy. Then she had to suppress the urge to yell, "DOBBY IS A FREE ELF!"

It took her a few moments longer than expected to gather her thoughts enough in order to generate the appropriate response. Licking her dry lips, she managed to reply, "Thank you very much. Are there any other questions you'd like to ask me?"

Dr. Ozkan gave her a warm smile, and somehow he seemed to know her overwhelming relief at being able to graduate. It was such a heady sense of accomplishment that she barely heard the 'no' she received in answer to her question. The next few moments were a blur of shaking hands, and being told the school would email her further details about graduation.

Somehow she found herself standing on the marble white steps out front, overlooking the sprawling Columbia campus in addition to the piercing skyscrapers of New York City. Her elation made the world around her seem brighter, and she took a moment to study the city, which had been her home for the past six years.

The sound of "The Riders of Rohan" ringtone, a subtle nod to her inner Tolkein fangirl, interrupted her study of the landscape. She glanced at the caller ID on her cellphone, which displayed an unfamiliar number. Frowning slightly, she accepted the call.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice responded, "Is this Ms. Foster?"

Lizzie gave a slight smile at the realization people would call her Dr. Foster in a few short weeks, and she told the person, "Yes, this is she. How may I help you?"

"This is Mr. Faux from Stark Industries."

"How are you, Mr. Faux? And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"I'm quite well. I was calling you in regards to your interview at Stark Industries for the vacant psychologist position."

There was a slight pause in which Lizzie felt all of her elation evaporate to be replaced with dread.

"We'd like for you to come in to meet the rest of the psychologists on staff in addition to discussing our offer."

Stunned, she managed to stammer, "Why thank you so much. When would you need me to come into the office?"

"Well I know the psychologists on staff will all be here tomorrow afternoon, and I had meant to get in touch with you yesterday but we've been swamped with work following Thanksgiving."

"Tomorrow would be fine for me."

"Excellent. How does 3 pm sound?"

"That should work just fine."

"Wonderful."

After hanging up the phone, Lizzie spends some time in a daze. Graduating and a job offer. The only thing that could make this better was celebratory drinks. With that thought in mind, she sent a text to some of the other graduate students and to Jane about dog sitting on top of letting her crash on the brand new pullout couch for the night.

BREAK

The bass was loud enough in the club that Lizzie could feel it in her bones. The loud noise wasn't necessarily conducive to conversation, which was alright since she and the other graduate students in her department had come here to dance. She had dressed up for the occasion in her black skinny jeans, forest green top, and her grey heeled booties, which would hopefully bear up reasonably until the end of the night. Upon their arrival, Hayley, one of the other grads, declared they all needed shots to celebrate. Lizzie's shots of whiskey had burned going down, but a pit of warmth settled in her stomach that spread like fire throughout her body.

She vaguely remembered being dragged onto the dance floor, and all she thought of now was following the beat of the music. Lizzie had never been the most graceful dancer, however she liked to think she made up for it with her enthusiasm. The flashing red lights employed by the club made it appear as if everything was happening in slow motion. Of course, this phenomena fascinated her drunken mind so she didn't notice the arms encircling her waist until something sweaty pressed into her rom behind.

Glancing up at Hayley, she tried to silently ask who the hell was behind her, to which Hayley merely shrugged before flashing a not so subtle thumbs up. Lizzie rolled her eyes and nonetheless began to dance with the supposedly attractive stranger. She wasn't a big fan of dancing back to front, but it was too loud to say anything. She'd just have to move.

Before she could change their arrangement the mysterious stranger's lips grazed her ear. Hot breath tickled her cheek as she waited for him to make his move, and a somewhat pleasant voice said, "Hey, baby, want to turn around?"

She rolled her neck and shuddered at his words to show she was uncomfortable but instead of backing off, he asked, "Will you be a good girl and behave for daddy?"

Time stopped for a moment as the fear began to trickle down her spine. It felt as if it were an eternity where Lizzie could clearly see the outcome of this moment but could do nothing. Her body went rigid and her arms slapped to her sides of their own accord.

The sounds of the music became distant, and the sensation of being a passenger in her own body overwhelmed her. The fear was gone replaced by… nothingness. Was someone screaming? Or was that her trapped inside her own head?

A flash of a worried face captured her attention, and a blond woman was standing in front of her with furious hazel eyes. What was wrong? A warm hand grabbed her own so Lizzie had no choice but to follow the blonde out of the club.

She barely felt slap of the cold air on her face before the woman – _Hayley, her name is Hayley_ – demanded, "Are you alright?"

"I am ready to comply," Lizzie responded promptly.

Instead of reassuring her, this answer made the woman – _Hayley_ – become alarmed.

"Did someone slip you drugs?"

"I do not think so."

The woman began to bite her nails, the action caused Lizzie to feel some sort of distant revulsion, but she gave no indication of her discomfort.

"Ok… It's time for you to go to Jane's apartment then."

Automatically, Lizzie began walking down the crowded sidewalk past the people huddled in a line.

"Wait! Stop!"

Lizzie abruptly halted at the command, garnering curious stares from passersby and the people in line. She did not turn when a hand grabbed at her coat, and the woman's sharp voice asked, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To Jane's apartment."

Shock seemed to line the woman's face as she finally managed to stutter out, "What the fuck."

BREAK

The woman decided walking was not an option so they took a cab to Jane's apartment with Lizzie obediently following the woman's every command. Instead of appearing pleased, Lizzie's docile behavior seemed to frustrate her companion.

After they had entered a building, the woman commanded, "Stay put." Thus, Lizzie stood as still as possible in five inch heels at the middle of what looked like a lobby – _an asylum_ – which was largely empty, Lizzie deduced due to the time of day.

Raised voices caused her to lift her eyes to stare at the woman. She was arguing rather emphatically with some security guards about taking Lizzie upstairs. The noise seemed to have attracted a strange onlooker. He approached at top speed, and his shoulder knocked into her as he passed. Whatever his shoulder was made of definitely wasn't true flesh and bone-it felt like metal and it _hurt_.

Thankfully, she didn't have to turn to look at him otherwise it would be been disobeying orders. He saved her the trouble by turning his face over his shoulder to look at her as he passed, and she was struck by his appearance. The man had a tall, maybe six-foot frame, slightly stubbled strong jaw, and dark hair. His apparel was non-descript workout clothes with a navy blue cap pulled down low. A person who could be easily dismissed in the crowd...at least, he was, until he let his hat tip back.

She saw his eyes, and they were unforgettable. His eyes were a bright blue, akin to sea glass, but they were haunted and shrewd. They seemed to dominant her vision, so she did not respond when he made a mumbled apology.

Her lack of response must have upset him because he did a double take and paused for a moment. She thought for sure he would surely punish her. He scrutinized her for a span of mere heartbeats before proceeding to where the woman stood.

His entrance into the discussion seemed to give the security guards some anxiety, but his exchange with the woman eventually calmed them and they retreated from the conversation. Some sort of decision was reached between the man and the blond woman, and them the two walked back to where Lizzie stood.

"Lizzie, this is Sergeant Barnes. He is going to take you upstairs because I can't go up there with you," she shot a glare at the security guards who stared back stonily at her.

"That is acceptable."

The woman looked alarmed if not resigned by this statement, but the man… The man appeared to be wary and jumpy.

"Alright, text me in the morning so I know you aren't dead."

Lizzie merely nodded to show her assent before turning her focus upon the man, waiting for instructions. They stare at each other for a few moments, simply studying each other. He seemed to realize she needed commands, judging by the realization highlighting his features. However, she didn't expect his voice to sound so disused, so guarded.

"Follow me."

She performed a perfect pivot and they walked to the back of the lobby to enter one of the last elevators. Upon entering, the man pressed a button for a floor but allowed his thumb to linger for a few moments longer than necessary before it is was illuminated by the red light.

She blinked. For a second she was no longer in the elevator, but in a concrete corridor illuminated by dull red lights encased in rusted wire.

Within the span of a heartbeat the image was gone, but she squinted her eyes at the sudden onslaught of light. She did not indicate that she had seen anything unusual to the man, so the silence enveloped them as they ascended.

It was subsequently broken by the man when he jabbed a button labeled as 'Emergency Stop'.

His voice seemed as if it came from the depths of the Artic Oceans when he asked, "Who sent you?"

Lizzie glanced at him before a look of polite confusion overtook her features. But she heard orders in her head: she must answer. She must comply.

"No one."

His gaze became sharper and, if it was physically possible, brighter. It nailed the soles of her feet to the ground.

"What is your name?"

"Elizabeth Marie Foster."

"Why are you here?"

"Because the woman ordered me to come here."

His face became disturbed, and he quickly asked, "What woman?"

"The woman who just left."

"Did she give the order?"

"What order?"

"The order for my capture," he spat.

"No."

The tension bled out of the room as if a balloon had been popped. He looked as if he was a marionette whose strings had been cut.

She didn't notice his close proximity until now, and she felt a lurch as the man regarded her with slightly more compassion in his eyes.

Those eyes…

"So why are you acting like a robot?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're acting compliant."

 _Your compliance will be rewarded._

Bile crawled its way up the back of her throat as tears inexplicably began to fill her eyes.

She managed to stutter, "He said something to me and I just...did what I was told."

Now it was his turn to look slightly puzzled as he asked, "Who?"

"The man at the bar. He said-"

But the words died in her mouth as she tried to articulate them. It felt as if someone had hung a noose around her neck and was pulling tight. Someone was screaming again. Was it the guy escorting her?

No. His mouth was closed, but his closed off expression became more concerned when she uttered the words in a robotic, guttural tone.

" _Will you be a good girl and behave for daddy?"_

Then she only knew darkness.


End file.
